


Father's Day

by catie_writes_things



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Family, Father's Day, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 09:09:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5579671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catie_writes_things/pseuds/catie_writes_things
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father's Day is an important tradition on Tatooine. The Skywalkers never quite get to observe it in the conventional way, but they do their best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father's Day

**33 BBY**

“Sorry, Ani, I can’t stay - I’ve got to get home and make dinner.”

Anakin nodded, understanding, and Kitster ran off, giving a small wave behind him as a goodbye. His other friends would be similarly occupied, he knew.

Today was Father’s Day, and it was a Tatooine tradition that children prepared a special meal for their fathers to celebrate.

Anakin was hardly the only child in Mos Espa without a father, of course - Seek, Amee, and even Kitster had all lost theirs, one way or another. But their families still observed the tradition, leaving a plate of food out under the stars, in recognition of the absent men.

Anakin and his mother had never done this, and he had never asked why. There was a sadness in his mother’s eyes sometimes that made him afraid of the answer.

That night, after quietly picking at his own dinner, Anakin lay awake in bed, trying to imagine what his father would have been like. He pictured a man with blue eyes and sandy hair like his own, a man who held his head high but smiled easily.

Just as he drifted off to sleep, he saw the two of them sharing a meal beneath a starlit sky.

**31 BBY**

Obi-Wan returned to his quarters to find Anakin cooking.

That in itself wasn’t so odd - Anakin was fairly adept at making basic meals, and often helped Obi-Wan prepare food on evenings when they chose not to dine in the cafeteria. What was odd was that he was cooking by himself, without having said anything about it first.

“Master Obi-Wan!” Anakin called excitedly when he noticed him standing in the doorway. “I made dinner.”

“I can see that,” Obi-Wan replied. The large pot on the cooksurface was filled with noodles in a thick brown sauce, which smelled delicious. The dirty dishes weren’t piled too high in the sink, so Obi-Wan decided to simply accept the thoughtful gesture, however unexpected it was. “Thank you, Anakin.”

He was rewarded with one of Anakin’s genuine smiles, as the boy hurriedly spooned noodles into two plates. They sat down to eat, and Obi-Wan found the dish tasted as good as it smelled. He said as much, and Anakin gave him another small smile.

“My mom taught me how to make it,” he said softly.

Obi-Wan didn’t know how to respond to that, so he simply nodded. They ate in silence for a few more minutes before Anakin spoke up again.

“Obi-Wan, sir…” he began hesitantly.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Anakin only called him “sir” when he was nervous, but he had no apparent reason to be so now. Had he gotten in trouble again somehow, and decided to sweeten his master up before telling him?

Anakin’s face fell. “Nevermind,” he mumbled, returning his attention to his food.

The rest of the meal was uneventful, with Anakin giving half-hearted answers to Obi-Wan’s attempts at conversation and dutifully helping clean up without saying anything. When he retreated to his room immediately afterwards, Obi-Wan was left feeling that he had missed something important.

But he would never know what it was.

**10 BBY**

Darth Vader was not a pleasant person to interact with on the best of days. Terrifying was his version of normal, and seasoned war veterans were often left unsettled by the mere sight of him.

There were two days in particular, however, that the crew of the Executor had learned to give the dark lord as wide a berth as possible.

The first was the day after Empire Day. Whatever the reason for his foul mood, Vader usually made it easy to avoid him on that day, remaining confined to his private quarters short of a summons from the Emperor himself.

The second annual occasion was even more mysterious. It was a day in the middle of the sixth standard month, the significance of which none of the crew could guess. And yet, without fail, each year, the slightest misstep on that day would be met with Vader’s full fury. Even seemingly innocuous actions - a mention of food, or a reference to one’s family - could be cause for harsh reprisal.

Last year, a junior officer on errand duty had reported to the medbay with a concussion from being thrown into a wall. He swore he had done and said nothing out of the ordinary, he’d merely allowed himself to think about his young son. The moment his thoughts had strayed from his immediate task, Vader had lashed out at him.

The continuation of normal duties on this day made it that much more perilous, and the lack of explanation made it more unsettling. The more senior crew members, who had survived the storms of Vader’s temper for several years running, were left to conclude that this day must hold some meaning which was intensely personal to the dark lord.

The thought of Vader having a personal life was perhaps the most unsettling of all.

**8 BBY**

While Aunt Beru stirred the large pot of noodles, Luke carefully sliced vegetables for the sauce. Uncle Owen had done his part that morning, preparing the bread dough before setting out for the day’s work.

“Can you tell me about my father?” Luke asked softly as his aunt looked over his shoulder to inspect his slicing. He knew his aunt and uncle didn’t usually like to talk about his father, but on this day they made an exception.

“He was Grandma Shmi’s son from before she married your uncle’s father,” Aunt Beru began, the same way she did every year. Luke hung on every word, no matter how familiar.

“He was good at fixing things, and very skilled at flying,” she continued, turning away from him to stir the pot again. “So he found work on a freighter as a navigator, which took him offworld most of the time.”

Luke smiled at the thought of his father flying away from Tatooine to have adventures throughout the galaxy. He hoped to do the same, someday. “What did he look like?”

“He was tall,” his aunt replied, and Luke straightened his posture, trying to add a centimeter or two to his own adolescent height. “His hair was a sandy color, and he had blue eyes, just like you.” That was Luke’s favorite part.

“Grandma Shmi loved him very much,” Aunt Beru went on, drawing to the close of her narrative. “And he loved you,” she said, kissing the top of Luke’s head gently, “Just like we do.”

When Uncle Owen came back that evening, they took their meal outside rather than into the dining room. Uncle Owen laid one plate on his father’s grave, and Luke laid another next to it, for his own father.

As they ate their meal in the twilight, Luke realized for the first time that he was glad his father wasn’t buried on Tatooine. Instead of being stuck on this dustball forever, he was out there somewhere among the stars.

Someday, Luke promised himself, he would go and find him.

**5 ABY**

Luke had not returned to Endor since the Rebellion had left it behind. He had not had a reason to, until now.

He’d invited Leia to come with him, but she had declined. Luke was disappointed, but he understood - she wasn’t ready for this yet. Besides, this was a Tatooine tradition. It wouldn’t have had the same meaning to her anyway.

There were few clear spaces where he could land on the forest moon, so he had to set down his X-Wing a fair distance from his destination. The trek through the forest took him most of the day, and it was already evening when he came to the simple pile of stones that marked his father’s grave.

Unpacking the camping kit he had brought, Luke set to work. The instant noodles cooked quickly, and the vegetables were freeze dried. He did his best to liven up the prepackaged sauce with some seasonings he had added to the kit, but he knew it would never compare to Aunt Beru’s. Still, it would have to do.

Splitting the rudimentary meal into two portions, he placed one atop the grave, then lifted his own bowl in a salute.

“Happy Father’s Day,” he whispered.

No glowing apparition picked up the other bowl, but Luke could feel his father’s presence, and knew he was there to share this meal with him beneath the stars.


End file.
